


Eight Arms to Hold You

by metaphoracle



Category: Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Amorous Cephalopods, Atlantis, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Identity Issues, Identity Porn, Identity Reveal, M/M, Namor-Typical Marriage Proposals, Photographer!Peter, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-26 23:36:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16691104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metaphoracle/pseuds/metaphoracle
Summary: When Spider-Man’s best friend Johnny Storm asks him for help in tactfully declining a marriage proposal from the King of Atlantis, Namor the Sub-Mariner, the only solution is for him to volunteer Daily Bugle photographer Peter Parker to pretend to be dating Johnny at the Engagement Banquet in Atlantis. Sure, it’s technically lying to his best friend about who Peter Parker is, but the important thing is that Johnny won’t have to marry Namor, and if Peter gets some photographs of Atlantis to sell, what’s the harm? Peter thought the most difficult thing about this scenario was going to be making sure Johnny didn’t figure out Peter is actually Spider-Man. Having to pretend he wasn’t actually falling in love with his best friend never crossed his mind.Featuring fake relationships, forced (almost) marriages, identity porn, traditional Atlantean clothing, and amorous cephalopods.





	1. You'll be the Tigris, I'm the Euphrates

When Peter first received his TA appointment, his mind had been filled with daydreams featuring giving meaningful feedback on student work and assisting brilliant professors with their research. The reality is long hours, uncomfortable chairs, bad coffee, and students with questions that they could find the answers to On. The. Syllabus. And then there’s the grading. Realizing that he would only be allowed to handle the multiple choice exams had crushed his dreams of becoming some kind of mentor, but he hadn’t anticipated that he’d been grading literally hundreds of them. In a row. Nonstop. The Scantron machine is causing him a repetitive stress injury. 

It’s enough to make him reconsider all of his life choices. And he would, but it’s still money. And money is good when freelancing is sporadic at best, and his work schedule means there’s always the threat of being interrupted by Electro or Rhino or Paste Pot Pete. Which is why he’s TAing for a professor who doesn’t care if he has to leave suddenly or get the majority of the grading done late at night when everyone else has gone home, so long as it gets done before the next class.. 

He’s heading to campus to catch up on the latest round of Biology 101 exams when he sees him.

Johnny’s not in costume, but even under the baseball cap and oversized black hoodie, there’s no way Peter wouldn’t recognize him. He watches Johnny make his way through the crowd, unnoticed by the people he passes by. Peter wouldn’t consider himself to be particularly aware of the people around him (except in a Danger Sense kind of way) but Johnny has just always stood out. He shines somehow brighter than the people around him. But right now, the poster boy isn’t smiling. In fact, Johnny looks miserable.

Peter opens his mouth to call out something to get Johnny’s attention and has to catch himself. Technically, Peter Parker doesn’t know Johnny Storm. Spider-Man does. 

Having to keep his identity secret makes his life unnecessarily complicated sometimes, like right now, when it means that he’s stalking his friend through the city until he can get him alone. But experience has taught him it’s better than the alternative.

Johnny eventually comes to a stop outside of a flophouse and--that’s more than a little concerning. Peter tries to come up with a reason, any reason, why Johnny would be visiting a place like this, but as he watches Johnny wave at people as if he knows them--as if he’s been here before, and frequently--the only explanation seems to be that Torchy is actually staying there. At the flophouse.

He stands outside, debating whether to follow Johnny inside, when he spies a familiar blond head pop outside a window facing the fire escape down the alley. 

The expression on Johnny’s face is still miserable, but more resigned than anything. From this angle, with the way Johnny has his face turned up towards the sun, the rays of sunlight that reach him between the heavy shadows of the nearby buildings, have him illuminated like a Renaissance painting, and it almost seems like Johnny’s flame is reaching back. 

A taxi horn breaks the spell, hard and followed by obscenities, and Peter pulls himself up to the roof for a quick costume change before he lowers himself onto the rusted platform of the fire escape, next to where Johnny’s sitting on the windowsill, idly flipping through a comic. 

“Heya, Firefly. What’s a boy like you doing in a place like this?”

He sees the flame almost before it happens--Johnny’s eyes flashing up in surprise, the wave of heat, and then the comic he’d been holding begins to burn. It doesn’t take Johnny long to extinguish his flames, and he fans the smoke away, glaring at Peter balefully. “Thanks, Web-head. I was reading that, you know.”

“Uh...sorry, Torchy,” Peter replies, but he’s off-balance now, stunned slightly into silence. His whole rhythm is off, and even Johnny seems to notice. His face does something complicated that Peter doesn’t quite understand before his jaw clenches. 

“What do you want, Spidey?” he asks, and Peter’s pretty sure he’s not imagining that suspicious tone. He’s seen Johnny be moody before, but usually his friend is more prone to put up a front and pretend everything’s okay when something is actually wrong, which makes the suspicion even more confusing. 

“Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man, remember?” Peter gestures towards the street. “I was in the neighborhood.”

Johnny’s posture relaxes slightly, but he still looks wary. “So...Sue didn’t send you looking for me?”

“Well, I do have professional Torch wrangler on my resume,” Peter jokes. Johnny just looks away, chewing on his lower lip. 

“Hey,” Peter says, this time more sincere, because the way Johnny is acting is actually kind of concerning. “Everything okay, Torchy?”

There’s a silence, and a long sigh as Johnny visibly debates telling Peter. “It’s a long story.”

The two of them stare at each other, and then Peter clears his throat, pointedly.

“Namor wants to marry me,” Johnny says. 

It’s only Peter’s spider-reflexes that prevent him falling off the fire escape. 

He makes a kind of strangled sound, and Johnny gives him a baleful look.

“Okay, hot stuff,” Peter says, hands up, placatingly. “Maybe...start from the beginning?”

***

“So, to summarize...Namor had amnesia and was wandering around New York homeless until you found him and gave him a haircut using your flaming fingers--which does, actually, explain some of your more questionable hair choices--and then you dropped him in the Hudson, which, in addition to being toxic, also magically triggers Atlantean memories, And now he wants to marry you to...say thanks?” Peter feels like he needs a drink. 

“Pretty much, yeah,” Johnny replies, and shrugs before taking another sip of his coffee. They’ve moved from the alley to the roof and are drinking coffee Johnny had bought from a deli on the corner--with Peter’s money, since Johnny had left the Baxter Building without his wallet. Or so he claimed. Peter’s not entirely convinced.

“And that required you to leave Midtown...why, exactly?” Peter knows there’s something he’s missing, something between Johnny being proposed to and him fleeing the safety of the Baxter Building. 

“I can’t talk to them about it.” Peter looks over to see Johnny fidgeting with the lid of his coffee cup. “Namor has...kind of a thing for Sue. I mean…everyone does,” he laughs, a little, but Peter hears the bitterness. “This would just be...weird for her,” he finishes.

“Maybe just a little,” Peter agrees. 

“And then there’s Ben…” Johnny adds. He shakes his head and groans. “I can hear the jokes he’d make now. There’s no way he’d let me live this down. Ever. And it doesn’t help that I took off because of what happened to Frankie. Leave because of a girl, come back because of a guy…” he grimaces and shakes his head again.

“Something happened to Frankie?” He couldn’t really remember a time when Johnny wasn’t dating someone, but it did seem a little odd, now that he thought about it, that for some reason it never really seemed to work out for Johnny with any of them. Not that he was one to judge.

“She’s gone,” Johnny says, and there’s sadness there, and something else that Peter suspects is guilt. “Galactus--she’s his herald now. She’s going to destroy worlds.” He looks up at Peter, and he can read confusion and anger warring on Johnny’s face. “And she chose it. She chose to leave. To become that.” 

It’s Peter’s turn to fidget with his coffee cup. “I know it’s incredibly hypocritical of me to say, but...you know it’s not your fault, Torch.” Peter takes a deep breath. “You’re not responsible for her choices.” 

Johnny shakes his head in disagreement. “Not her choices, maybe. But having to make them? If I hadn’t dragged her into all of this she wouldn’t be this now. She’d have a perfectly normal life with a perfectly normal guy.” 

Yeah, Peter can’t really say anything to that without being an even bigger hypocrite, so he doesn’t. 

“So. Namor...” Peter says, changing the subject with zero subtlety, but honestly, even Namor can’t be a worse subject than the current one. “...he does know you’re a guy, right?”

“Atlanteans don’t care about things like that, apparently,” Johnny says, and sort of shrugs. “I guess when you’ve been around as long as Namor has...” He glances over at Peter, and there’s another one of those bitter, almost wry smiles before he looks away again. “You know it’s funny. We have aliens and gods and mutants, and the world has literally ended at least like, a dozen times, but two guys being together is still…” he trails off and shrugs again, expansively. “It’s messed up, is all I’m saying.”

Peter tears the rim of his now-empty coffee cup. “I guess so. People should be able to be with whoever they want to be with, right?” He lifts his head and studies Johnny, curiously. “Do you want to be with Namor?”

Johnny looks surprised by the question, but then he frowns. “I honestly haven’t considered it. I mean, after everything that’s happened between him and Sue...I’m not sure I could be with someone who was in love with my sister. You know? But it’s not just that. This life we lead. Being in the public eye is bad enough but then you add all this craziness on top of it, and it’s just like…” he makes a frustrated sound. 

“I see Reed with Sue, and I think I’ve realized, after all of this, that’s what I want. Being with someone who isn’t part of this circus already is just asking for trouble, one way or another.” That rueful smile is back. “Maybe the Atlanteans have the right idea. At least you double your odds of finding someone, right Webhead?”

Double your odds, or double your pain. Peter thinks of Gwen, and Harry, and MJ, and Flash, and Liz. He can’t imagine how much more complicated his life would be if Harry and Flash weren’t resolutely heterosexual. 

“So,why are you hanging out here, of all places?” Peter may be deliberately changing the subject again, but he’s also genuinely curious. He crushes the paper cup and tosses it at Johnny’s head. “Always running away from your problems, eh Blondie?”

Johnny incinerates the paper cup, then sticks out his tongue. “You know what the Baxter Building is like. I can’t even hear myself think. I guess I thought I’d go somewhere no one would find me and see if I could sort myself out.” He smiles, ruefully. “But if I hadn’t come here, I don’t know...Namor might still not know who he is.” He picks up one of the comic books and holds it out for Peter to take. “I feel like an idiot, but it was only because I was literally reading these as he was walking in that I recognized him. He was just so...not like Namor.”

Peter flips through the pages of _Namor the Sub-Mariner_. It must be surreal to live the kind of life where people wrote about you as if you were a fictional character. Although that’s often how he talks about Spider-Man to other people--as if it was someone else, someone separate from himself. Sometimes it feels that way. 

“And now he wants to marry me.” Johnny whines, plaintively. “I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do. I’ve already done everything I’ve seen Sue do. I’ve told him I’m not worthy of the honor. I’ve told him that I’m too young, that I’m not ready. I’ve pointed out, several times, that I wouldn’t be able to give him children, which has not phased him. At all.” He lets out a softly exasperated sound. “I have no idea how Sue does it. She always manages to say the right thing. But this is me. I never say the right thing.”

He smiles, self-deprecating. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this, but I guess...anybody that can keep a secret about who they really are as well as you can...I trust you with mine.”

It’s a testament to Johnny’s inherent goodness that he’s not only accepted Peter’s secret identity and hasn’t pushed him on it, but also turned it into something good rather than the crappy friend behavior it actually is. And maybe that’s why he’s let this friendship build when he tends to keep his distance from other people. But really, the reason he can’t stay away from Johnny is because it’s _Johnny_. 

Johnny, the golden boy. Beautiful and always pushing him to be better, and not even realizing it. Like when he’d come to Peter’s high school and given that speech that he still remembered. Never give up. He still repeats that to himself like a mantra, when he needs it. And then they’d become friends. They fought side by side in battle, and then afterwards went for a drink, or had lunch, or raced through the city. Moments that Peter holds close to his chest, clings to, desperately trying to remind himself that they’re friends, that there’s no point of even letting himself wonder what it would be like if….

If. 

“You’d think a guy as smart as Namor would realize I’d make an awful royal,” Johnny continues, and Peter pulls himself out of his memories to study Johnny here, now. “That whole world--kings and consorts and Royal Families and all that--that’s not for me. I found that out when I was dating Crystal.”

The idea that Johnny has no idea that he’s already basically royalty says a lot. The Fantastic Four are called the “First Family of Superheroes for a reason,” and not just because they were some of the first heroes around. Before the Avengers, or the X-Men. Before Peter had been bitten by that spider. There’s something almost Kennedy-esque about the way everyone--including Peter--follows along with their exploits. There were heroes who were actual royalty--Namor and the Inhumans, of course, but also Thor, Storm, T’Challa, and even Victor Von Doom--but they weren’t like the Fantastic Four. 

“Well, Matchstick, it’s too bad you’re not actually dating anyone right now,” Peter says, tracing the railing with an idle finger. “I bet Namor couldn’t argue against that. Maybe you can convince Crystal to stand in?”

It’s a glib comment, but Johnny gets this look on his face. One that Peter knows only means bad things. 

“You know, Spidey, that’s not a bad idea.”

“...what is?” Peter asks, warily. If he pretends he doesn’t follow, maybe Johnny won’t be able to either. Right?

“Getting someone to pretend to be dating me.” Johnny has a look that Peter knows means whatever he’s suggesting is going to be a bad idea. He should know--he’s been a victim of many bad ideas from Johnny Storm over the years. 

“Torch, you can’t be seriously thinking--”

“Spidey, come on,” Johnny wheedles. “Be a pal and pretend to be dating me so Namor will lay off.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “You’re hilarious. You could walk up to any woman on the street and ask her and she’d say yes.”

“That’s the problem!” Johnny protests. “You think I haven’t considered that? But after Frankie, the last thing I want to do is drag another person into this life. And I’m not…” he sighs, and Peter waits out Johnny’s silence, surprised by his vehemence. “I don’t want a girlfriend,” he says, finally. “I can’t. That’s why you’re perfect. I need a fake _boyfriend_.”

“You don’t even know what I look like underneath here,” Peter gestures to the suit. “For all you know, I could be hideously ugly--and don’t tell me you wouldn’t consider that to be a fate worse than being married to Namor.”

“Hey, how shallow do you think I am?” Johnny accuses. 

“You don’t want me to answer that,” Peter retorts.

“You’re probably right,” Johnny sighs. “The thing is that...I may not know your name, but I know you, and you’re a friend. And I’ve realized that I don’t have a lot of friends,” he says, in a small voice, as if embarrassed. “All day I’ve been out walking, wishing I had a friend I could talk to about this. I guess that’s why I just dumped everything on you. But you’re right. I have to figure this out myself.” 

There’s a line that Peter has sworn he won’t cross. For Johnny, or for anyone. But the hurt in Johnny’s voice makes him question that line. If only there was a way to help Johnny out without having to reveal himself as Spider-Man. If only he could just be Peter, helping out his friend Johnny. But Johnny Storm wouldn’t be asking Peter Parker for help. 

He sighs heavily. This is probably the worst idea Peter has had in his very long history of bad ideas, but disappointing Johnny Storm is not something Peter’s prepared to do. 

“I know a guy,” Peter says slowly. “You know that photographer for the _Daily Bugle_ who takes my photos? Peter Parker.”

He watches an unreadable expression go over Johnny’s face, wary and not entirely following. “What about him?” 

“I trust him,” Peter answers, and this is possibly the most ridiculous thing he’s ever done for the sake of protecting his identity. “If I asked him...if I told him you needed his help, he would do it. And he wouldn’t tell anyone. I wouldn’t...he’s true to his word. He’d help you, if you asked.”

“And he’s…” Johnny trails off, suggestively, and raises an eyebrow. 

“I think for a chance to photograph the city of Atlantis he’d be anything you wanted him to be,” he says, wryly.

Johnny looks him over consideringly, and he is so, so glad for the mask right now, because he’s sure the expression on his face right now would give everything away. 

“Okay,” Johnny decides. “Let’s go meet him.”

Peter’s not sure which part is worse--him coming up with this “plan” to begin with, or Johnny actually agreeing to it. Either way, it’s already about to fall apart. 

“What? Um, I actually have to go,” he says, and by Johnny’s narrowed eyes, that wasn’t very believable, or convincing. “And I think he has class or something or work, but I can set up a meeting, if you’re sure this is what you really want to do. Are you sure you don’t want to ask Crystal?”. 

“If you really trust this guy...I’m trusting you.” He raises his gaze, expression unexpectedly vulnerable. “Don’t let me down, Spidey.”

Peter swallows back the unexpected emotion and leverages himself to the top of the railing as he prepares to swing away. “I got your back, Torch.” 

“I know you do,” Johnny replies, with a certainty that twists Peter’s insides. Peter wishes he felt that sure about anything. 

***

Peter gets Johnny to agree to meet at a diner not far from his apartment, just in case the conversation has to become private. As he waits he recognizes the growing sense of dread, the fear that Johnny will somehow recognize him on sight. Maybe part of him even wants him to.

When he sees Johnny walk in, consciously or not, he feels like he’s seeing him with new eyes--with Peter Parker’s eyes. Gone are the hoodie and baseball cap he’d seen Johnny in at the flophouse. He looks freshly showered, his hair tousled in an effortless way that Peter suspects is actually effortless. He’s not dressed up, but the plain t-shirt he’s wearing is stretched across his shoulders and biceps, drawing Peter’s attention. Johnny’s uniform is just as tight, but for some reason, Peter’s never noticed before. Maybe because Johnny’s usually on fire. 

He realize, as Johnny continues to look around the deli, that his fears were unfounded, as Johnny clearly has no idea who he’s looking for. Awkwardly, he waves his hand and tries to catch Johnny’s eye. When their eyes meet, it’s like he’s sixteen all over again. It’s stupid, because he hasn’t felt starstruck by Johnny in years. But meeting him like this, without the mask, feels more vulnerable than he expected. 

Johnny nods and makes his way over to the booth and slides into the seat across from him. When he smiles hello, it’s almost shy, though Peter detects a sharpness in Johnny’s gaze that might be suspicion. 

“Um--Peter Parker,” he says, and holds out his hand, awkwardly. Johnny grasps it, and he and Johnny have shaken hands a dozen times, but this is bare skin on bare skin, and it catches him by surprise. 

“Your hands are warm,” he says, dumbly, and when Johnny laughs, it’s such a relief. 

“Occupational hazard,” he smiles, sitting back and letting Peter’s hand drop. 

“Thanks for meeting me,” he says, cautiously glancing around them a little bit before leaning close. “I don’t know how much detail our mutual friend went into about the jam that I’m in.” His smile is a little crooked, self-deprecating, and Peter has to remind himself that being charming is second nature to Johnny, after all of the press conferences and interviews he’s done. 

“O-of course,” Peter stutters, and he tries to get a grip, because this is _Johnny_ , and he’s known Johnny for years. He takes a deep breath. “Our uh...friend, mentioned something about an engagement and the need for secrecy, and um--a potential trip to Atlantis?” It had been a joke, suggesting that Peter Parker would have no problem playing the part of Johnny Storm’s lovesick boyfriend in exchange for photos of Atlantis, but he isn’t faking his excitement about that part. After all, there’s no reason he can’t help his friend Johnny _and_ also earn a little money at the same time.

Johnny bites his lip and nods a little, tapping his fingers lightly on the tabletop. “Namor’s holding a banquet in my honor on Friday,” he says. “I managed to talk him out of calling it an engagement party, but...well, I still haven’t gotten him to take ‘no’ for an answer,” he adds, with a wry twist of lips. “So I’m expecting it to be a little awkward. After.”

“To say the least,” Peter says, dryly. “Namor’s not exactly subtle with his temper tantrums when he feels slighted.”

Johnny nods and sighs a little. “That’s really the problem. I’ve told him no, already, like a lot,” he insists. “But Namor insists that I have to see Atlantis first, and how ours will be a union of fire and water, and how he’s been waiting for me to reach my maturity, so he can wait a little longer.”

Peter already didn’t like Namor, but...waiting for Johnny to reach his maturity? Creepy. “So, you’re hoping that if I come down with you and pretend to be your boyfriend, Namor will change his mind?” And granted, this was his idea, but that doesn’t mean it’s a good one. “I hate to bring it up, but it’s not like Sue being married to Reed seems to matter.”

“It’s a gamble,” Johnny admits. “You deserve to know that it’s a risk up front. I don’t know how Namor will react. But I promise you, even if things go sideways...I won’t let Namor hurt you.” 

Spider-Man’s held his own against Namor before, but Johnny’s concern is sweet, since he doesn’t know that. 

“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” Peter replies, truthfully. “So, your plan seems to be hinging on trying to prove to Namor that you wouldn’t be a good consort, right? You mind if I ask how do you plan on doing that?”

Johnny drums his fingers on the table before he sits back. “I’ve been thinking about that,” he replies, with another boyish smile that Peter is not letting himself be charmed by. “And I don’t have a plan yet, but whatever happens, first we have to be able to convince Namor that you’re my boyfriend. And I mean _really_ convince. It’s why I can’t just find someone off the street,” Johnny rushes to explain. “I need to be able to sell it that I’m not just dating someone, but that it’s serious.” 

He searches Peter’s face, and when he speaks again, it’s not at all what Peter expects him to say. “So if you’re not up for it, you can walk away now. No hard feelings.” 

Peter’s not used to seeing Johnny appear to be anything less than confident, so the tentativeness, like he’s expecting Peter to back out, is a surprise. 

“Hey,” he says, reassuringly. “If kissing you in front of Namor saves you from being married to that creep, all I have to say is...I’ll make sure to brush my teeth, okay?”

Johnny doesn’t respond right away, still looking at Peter in a way that makes him feel...seen, in a strange way. Eventually, he leans closer, over the table, and casually covers Peter’s hand with his own, his voice turning intimate as his thumb rubs against Peter’s. 

“So you’re okay with this?” When Peter’s eyes fly up to meet Johnny’s he inhales sharply at the literal and figurative heat of his gaze. “Our _friend_ wasn’t actually clear about whether you were actually into guys or not.”

Peter hadn’t prepared for that question. It was stupid of him to not realize it might come up, and he flounders for a moment searching for an answer. 

“I’m not...out,” he says, slowly, “not to my friends, or family, or people at work.” And if he means _being Spider-Man_ , Johnny doesn’t have to know that. 

Johnny’s expression turns sympathetic. “That must suck. I can’t imagine not being able to share who you are with the people you love, or share the people you love with your friends.” 

“I want to do this,” Peter says, firmly. “I want to help you. Believe me, all my other…closet issues aside, pretending to be in love with Johnny Storm won’t be hard.”

Johnny studies him for a long moment, and then nods, as if convinced, and the corner of his mouth turns up in a small smile. He squeezes Peter’s hand again and then sits back, and Peter watches as his face transforms from serious to something else. Something...flirtatious. He’s seen Johnny give that look to a dozen people before, but having it aimed at himself is a...new experience. 

“So...you have plans tomorrow?”

It takes a moment for Peter to process the question and recover. “Tomorrow? I thought you said the banquet was Friday.” Hello, panic, his old friend. 

“It is, but if we’re really going to sell this, that can’t be our first date,” Johnny explains, leaning forward a bit, with a soft smile. Peter guesses that’s logical, even if he didn’t expect it. 

“The easiest lies to sell are ones based in truth, or something, like that, right?” That smile is back, that poster boy smile that was on his face in the very first photo Peter ever saw of Johnny, tacked up in Liz Allen’s locker. 

“Besides. It’s not fair to ask you to pretend to date the Human Torch and then not actually give you the boyfriend experience.” Johnny’s smile is strangely self-deprecating. “There may not be many benefits, but you deserve them, for what you’re going to do for me.”

The fact that Johnny thinks he’d have to try to offer his celebrity as a bargaining chip in order to persuade Peter to date him makes him feel irrationally angry at every person Johnny’s ever dated.

“Torchy, I may be new to this, but dating you is the only benefit a person should need,” Peter says, firmly. 

Johnny’s head tilts to one side, and he looks at Peter as if seeing him in a new light. He looks as if he’s going to say something, and then changes his mind, shaking his head slightly.

“You’re not what I expected,” he says instead, and Peter frowns until Johnny continues. “I just want to thank you, for doing this for me. Not everybody would. Even for their best friend.” 

Guilt twists Peter’s stomach, and he swallows. “Yeah, well. I’m pretty sure there’d be a line around the block of people willing to help you with this problem, if they knew,” he deflects. “But you’ll have to settle for me.”

“Funnily enough, I don’t think I’m settling,” Johnny replies, and there’s something soft in his smile as he picks up the menu. “So, you going to buy me lunch, Peter, or what?” He flutters his eyelashes dramatically. “I’ve been staying in a flophouse. You wouldn’t send me away without a hot meal, would you?”

Peter sighs. “If I buy you lunch, you’re buying the drinks tomorrow,” he grouses, and signals for the waitress. 

Johnny laughs, his eyes sparkling with good humor. “Deal--no take backs.” He grins, and Peter glances up, warily. “Guess Spidey never told you--I never have to pay for drinks.”

***

It’s only later that the sense of existential dread and panic hit, because turns out, this is an even worse idea than he’d originally thought. He’d thought that he’d just be going on a fake date (singular) with Johnny Storm and get a free trip to Atlantis. Save Johnny, get the photos, be a hero--all without Johnny ever figuring out that Spider-Man is Peter Parker, of course. It’s Day Two, and Peter’s trying not to panic about the fact that he was wrong. He was so wrong. He’s going to have to actually go on _multiple dates_ with his best friend as a _fake version of himself_.

Just that typical Parker luck.

For their “date” (because Peter keeps reminding himself that it’s not real, it doesn’t mean anything), Johnny had told him he was going to take him out to a bar around nine, and still Peter had barely made it back in time from swinging around, so he answers the door with just a towel around his waist when Johnny shows up, early. 

“Sorry, I’m---running late. Deadline emergency,” Peter says, breathlessly when he answers the door.

Johnny’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt again, but with a black bomber jacket that makes him looks stylish in a way that Peter envies. He wants to ask if that means Johnny’s no longer staying at the flophouse, but he catches Johnny’s eyes tracking over his body as he shuts the front door behind him, and forgets what he’s going to say, because Johnny is looking at him the way that he looks at people who aren’t Peter. The way he sometimes looks at him when he’s Spider-Man.

“Um--make yourself comfortable? I haven’t had time to go grocery shopping so I don’t have much, but I think there’s…” he opens the fridge and then shuts it again. “Water? There might be water.”

When he looks over at Johnny, he catches Johnny’s gaze sliding upwards almost guiltily. “...I’m good,” he says, belatedly, to Peter’s question. 

“Okay, just--I’m going to get dressed,” Peter gets out, while not so much walking to his bedroom as much as fleeing. 

He pulls on the first clean pair of jeans he finds and a dress shirt that’s only a little wrinkled, and then heads out back to the kitchen, where Johnny is paging idly through a copy of the _Bugle_ Peter had left on the table.

“All right,” he says, “I’m ready.”

Johnny glances up and then frowns a little. “I told you I was taking you to the bar, right?” 

“Right,” Peter answers, confused. “You just didn’t say which one. Is there a dress code?”

“Not _a_ bar. _The_ Bar. As in the trendiest nightclub this month,” Johnny says, patiently. “You haven’t heard of it?” He shakes his head. “Nevermind. You mind if I go through your closet?” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer and pushes past Peter into his bedroom. Peter follows and finds Johnny going through his closet, wearing a frown that only deepens. He pauses and then pulls out one of the long-sleeved shirts Peter wears under the scratchy wool sweaters May gives him every winter and presses it into Peter’s hands. “Try that.” 

Feeling a little self-conscious, Peter unbuttons his shirt and pulls it over his head, then tugs on the burgundy henley. It’s tight, because Peter only wears it under things, and he has the absurd impulse to cover up under Johnny’s gaze. 

“You feel okay in that?” Peter doesn’t understand the question, or why Johnny wants him to change, so he just shrugs. 

“Sorry I mean--you don’t look like you’re used to wearing clothes that fit,” Johnny clarifies, and his smile is openly appreciative. “I don’t know why, with what you’re hiding.” 

“It’s fine,” he says. “I don’t--you’re right, I’m just not used to not wearing layers.” Which is both the lie and the truth. He’s always wearing layers, because of the suit, unless he’s actually in the suit.

Johnny’s smile is brilliant, and Peter thinks to himself that he’d wear whatever Johnny wanted to when he smiles at him like that. When Peter first met Johnny, he was easily dazzled by that smile. It’s taken literal years for him to combat the dizzying effects of that smile and his instinct to give Johnny whatever he’s asking for. 

Johnny interrupts his thoughts. “Hey, Peter….” 

When Peter looks up and notices that smile is gone.

“For the next week it might get a little...intense,” Johnny says, carefully. “I know you said you weren’t out at work, so if you need to tell someone what’s going on, I get it. Or if you want to back out. I promise you can break up with me in public, though. As dramatic as you want to be.” His expression changes to something self-deprecating, and he sighs. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

It should be a joke, but there’s something underneath that makes Peter realize that this is Johnny’s normal--a few dates, photos, parties, and then a spectacular (usually public) breakup, with his ex going to the tabloids. 

Johnny deserves better than that. He deserves somebody who wants to be with him because they know Johnny is a star and they feel brighter just to stand close by, not because they’re hoping some of Johnny’s shine will rub off on them.

Peter takes a deep breath. He’ll deal with the aftermath later. He owes Johnny this. “Let’s go, handsome.” 

Johnny beams, the expression lighting up his entire face. It’s absurd how much Johnny’s smile makes him smile in return. 

“You’re not going to wear your hair like that, are you?”

Peter covers his face with his hands and sighs. “Please stop.”

***

They bypass the line outside, and once inside, Johnny leads Peter over to a VIP table upstairs. 

The Bar is exactly as trendy and shallow as Peter expected. He hates it instantly. It’s filled with expensive people wearing expensive clothes, drinking expensive drinks. Johnny fits right in, which just makes Peter feel all the more self-conscious. 

“Johnny!” A blonde woman wearing a tight red dress gets up from a man’s lap and throws herself into Johnny’s arms, pouting. “Babe, where have you been? And who’s your friend?”

Johnny laughs and manages to casually extricate himself from her arms while he moves closer to Peter, brushing his shoulder and arm in a way that felt intimate. “Rosie, Pete. Pete, Rosie.” Peter notices Johnny doesn’t say more than that, and it’s...interesting. He smiles and Rosie looks him over, consideringly. 

“He’s cute,” she decides. “Come sit with us?” 

“Maybe later,” Johnny demurs. “I’m going to show Pete around first. Save us a spot, though, yeah?”  
Rosie pouts again, but Johnny just laughs and then they’re moving to the next table. This time it’s a brunette named Megan wearing a jumpsuit. Then it’s a redhead named Toby. By the time they reach the actual bar, Peter’s already feeling overwhelmed. 

And it’s not just the noise, either. It’s the names Johnny has to remember, the meaningless conversations he has to have. And for what? 

At the bar, Johnny leans close to yell into his ear. “Do you drink? I’m sorry--I should have asked that before I brought you here,” he adds, with that half-crooked smile that lets him get away with anything. 

“I’ll have a beer,” he says, raising his voice slightly over the din. Johnny smiles at the bartender and orders two beers. As promised, they walk away without paying, although Johnny leaves a tip on the bar and winks at the bartender as they move towards the rail at the back of the club. 

The put their beers on the ledge and Peter looks out at the people dancing. He knows Johnny dances, and although there are more than a few couples out there that look like him and Johnny, he’s not sure he’s brave enough to go out there. 

Someone bumps against Johnny and he ends up with Johnny’s chest pressed against his own. “Sorry,” he murmurs, and eases back, although he stays standing closer than he was to start with.

“It’s okay,” Peter replies and tries to ignore the way his heart is beating wildly. He clears his throat before speaking again. “So is this what it’s like to date Johnny Storm? I have to admit, I was expecting more...something.”

Johnny laughs, but it sounds strangely bitter. “Yeah, people usually do.” 

It’s weirdly comforting to know Johnny seems to be just as bored as he is. He’d always thought that Johnny loved this scene, and now he’s starting to realize that it’s not Johnny’s scene at all. Everything--the clothes, the club, the people inside--it’s all part of a well-choreographed performance, staged to make sure that they’re seen by the right people.

Has anyone else ever noticed, he wonders, or did they, like Peter, get swept up Johnny’s celebrity, and never paid attention to the strain around Johnny’s mouth, the tightness around his eyes?

“You hate this,” Peter realizes. 

Johnny blinks at him and shrugs. “Sometimes. But other times...it’s nice to come here and not have to be myself for awhile. You know that feeling?”

Peter, who spends half his time wearing a mask and slinging webs through the city, knows that feeling extremely well. “Maybe a little,” he admits. “How come you’re being honest with me? You don’t even know me.”

“I know Spidey,” Johnny says. “And you do too. So you get it, what it’s like to be a hero. There’s the person you are. The person you have to protect. And then there’s the person that everyone else thinks you are. And sometimes, it’s just easier to be that person, you know? It’s kind of liberating to just be what other people expect you to be, sometimes.”

He and Johnny have never talked like this before. He doesn’t know what it means that Johnny’s talking to him like this now. Does Johnny know? Is he telling Peter that he knows that he’s playing this role instead of being himself?

Before Peter thinks about it too much, he reaches out with a hand to touch Johnny’s face, shadowed in the dim light of the club. 

He’s always known that Johnny was attractive, but now he’s up close, with no reason not to study the sharp curve of his cheekbones, the way the lights are reflected in his eyes, the soft wave to his hair. And his mouth. He lets his eyes linger on Johnny’s mouth and wonders what it tastes like. 

Johnny’s looking back at him, his eyes bright. “Peter,” he sighs, and before his brain can tell his body that this is a terrible idea, he moves closer and brushes his lips against Johnny’s. There’s a breath, and then Johnny surges against him. 

Johnny’s mouth is hot and sharp with the taste of alcohol, and Peter was not expecting to be doing this, has tried so hard to never even think of doing this, but he wants it, and he tells himself that for once, there’s no good reason why he shouldn’t and every reason why he should. How could anyone who was dating Johnny Storm not want to kiss him all the time? Especially when they found out that Johnny kisses like this. 

His hands are on Johnny’s hips and he can feel Johnny’s fingers against his scalp, and to his surprise, it’s Johnny who pulls away first. The club is dark, but Johnny’s eyes are bright as he regards Peter, breathless, one hand still draped around Peter’s shoulder, with obvious surprise. 

Peter takes a steadying breath and takes a step back. Standing together for the sake of the cameras is one thing, but he knows he’s crossed the line--and not just because Johnny thinks he’s only just met him. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking down at his hands to avoid Johnny’s eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that.” When he looks up, he sees a flash of hurt in Johnny’s expression and quickly continues. “I promise--I know it’s fake, I just...I really wanted to kiss you.”

Johnny looks down at his hands, and Peter waits for Johnny to agree with him, to tell him he’s crossed the line. But what he says instead is:

“I’m definitely not sorry.”

He watches as Johnny bites his lip, as if debating saying more, and when he meets Peter’s gaze it’s strangely vulnerable. “

Johnny looks at him with a strangely hopeful expression, and Peter doesn’t know how he’s supposed to respond to that. Because Johnny’s not saying to _him_ \--he’s saying that to Peter Parker, closeted Daily Bugle photographer and full-time Spider-Man groupie. If Johnny knew he who he was really talking to, he’d never be saying that. A surge of jealousy twists his stomach and it takes him a minute to realize he’s jealous of himself. 

***

When they leave The Bar, Johnny is gallant enough to walk him back, and immediately becomes Peter’s favorite when he buys him a hot dog from the street vendor outside the club. They walk and eat and Peter tries extremely hard to avoid thinking about the fact that he’s just kissed Johnny and that Johnny wasn’t sorry about it.

“What have you got against mustard?” Johnny says, around another mouthful of hot dog as they walk upstairs to Peter’s apartment. “It’s a perfectly acceptable condiment.” 

“Yeah, maybe in New Jersey,” Peter says, viciously, finishing up his own hot dog. He wipes his hands off on his coat as he fumbles for his keys. He opens the door and turns to say goodbye, but Johnny’s looking at him with this soft, fond expression that leaves Peter completely undone.

Before he thinks about it, he’s reaching out and curling his hand in Johnny’s shirt to pull him close enough to kiss. This time he doesn’t have the excuse of alcohol, or the club, or anything other than wanting to kiss Johnny because he can, because that’s what anyone who was lucky enough to be dating Johnny Storm would do. 

He feels Johnny tense slightly when their lips touch, but then his hands are sliding up Peter’s back. 

He makes a decision then and there, on some level, to put aside his guilt at Johnny not knowing who he’s really kissing, because the person Johnny thinks he’s kissing can give him everything Peter can’t allow himself to give. 

It wasn’t until he’d kissed Johnny Storm that he’d realized that he’d been dying to kiss Johnny for ages. And now that he can, now that there’s nothing holding him back, he’s not sure he can help himself from this one night. Just one, he tells himself, and Johnny will never know.

“Do you want to come inside?” he says, and purses his lips, tasting Johnny there. 

Johnny looks like he’s debating something internally, and Peter reaches up to smooth the lines on his forehead. 

“I do,” Johnny says, finally. “But I shouldn’t.” He studies Peter’s face. “This whole thing...it’s about to get complicated. It’s already complicated.” When Johnny steps back, puts his hands in his pockets, he looks Peter over again, resolved. “Ask me again, after the banquet.”


	2. The One that's Neither or Nor

Atlantis is nothing like Peter expects. 

From the window of the submersible, Peter can see towering spires, the city nestled within the coral reefs and underwater mountain ranges of the mid-Atlantic. When they arrive they’re greeted by blue-skinned attendants with way less blue skin on display than Peter was anticipating, based on Namor’s wardrobe choices, who lead them to a reception room that’s bigger than the house Peter grew up in.

The interior architecture is just as breathtaking as the city itself. The walls are adorned with silver and gold fixtures and draped with rich fabrics and tapestries. He sets his camera case on the floor and opens it up, pulling out the camera and a lens, which he assembles quickly while they’re waiting for Namor to arrive. 

“You’re seriously going to take pictures?” Johnny asks, leaning down over Peter’s shoulder. 

“Uh, yeah,” Peter straightens and checks the light in the room before taking a few tests shots. He snaps one of Johnny, backlit against the doorway. He’d decided to wear his Fantastic Four uniform on the trip down, for formality, he’d said, but Peter thinks it might have more to do with him still wanting to avoid going home to the Baxter Building. 

He tests out a few more angles, trying to capture the grandeur of the architecture. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”

Johnny shrugs. “Last time we were here, it wasn’t exactly a pleasant visit,” he says. “I guess I didn’t notice.”

“How can you not notice?” Atlantis is so far from Forest Hills. There’s a part of him that wishes his life could be more of this, less of the danger and the dying. More light and shadow and beauty. More perfectly composed shots and angles to share what he sees with people who will never be here to see it. More Peter Parker, less Spider-Man. But if he wasn’t Spider-Man, he wouldn’t even be here at all.

As he moves around the room, he can feel Johnny trailing after him. Johnny’s never watched him work, and it feels strangely intimate as he walks the room, trying to capture the scope of the room, from the paintings on the ceilings to the tiled floor. 

One wall of the room is solid glass, with nothing but the ocean on the other side, and Peter moves to stand in front of it. An octopus has attached itself against one portion of the wall and is sliding along it towards Peter, one of its tentacles wiggling in almost a wave when Peter snaps another photo. 

“Aw.” Johnny bumps Peter’s shoulder. “You made a friend.” 

Peter laughs and bumps Johnny’s shoulder back. “I’ll take him over Doc Ock any day.” 

Their moment of camaraderie is interrupted by the sounds of Namor’s arrival. 

They both turn and watch as Namor strides into the room. Although he’s encounter the King of Atlantis before, it’s still something of a shock to see him looking completely comfortable wearing nothing but those green shorts. 

“Jonathan,” Namor says, imperiously, as he comes to a stop in front of them. Peter watches as the King of Atlantis reaches out to take Johnny’s hand and bring it to his lips. 

Say what you would about Namor, he was _smooth_. 

When Namor stands upright again, his gaze slides towards Peter and then back to Johnny. “I see you’ve brought a guest,” he says, coolly, and there’s the Namor that Peter’s met, causally disdainful. 

“This is Peter.” Johnny says, belatedly taking Peter’s hand and squeezing it with a smile. “My boyfriend.”

There’s silence, and then Peter clears his throat. “Hi.”

Namor doesn’t even look his way, instead studying Johnny intensely, and Peter braces himself for one of those infamous outbursts of rage. 

“Dishonesty does not become you, Jonathan,” he says, reproachfully. 

For a moment Peter’s relieved, but then he watches as Namor lifts his hand to caress Johnny’s temple. 

“For a moment I thought that this was a juvenile attempt to provoke my anger by bringing this interloper into my palace, uninvited. But as your guest is clearly a photographer, I must commend you. Your intelligence when it comes to matters of publicity and the press is so much greater than my own. How wonderful of you to anticipate the need for a photograph record of our engagement announcement.”

Somehow Peter should have seen this coming and yet he had not at all. 

“No, I’m really his boyfriend,” Peter protests, because Johnny is standing there, frozen under Namor’s touch.

Namor ignores him, and his fingers slide down the curve of Johnny’s jaw. “I know that my past obsession with your sister may make it difficult for you to believe the depth of my ardor, but I assure you, I am sincere in my...appreciation.”

Peter’s first impulse is to punch Namor’s smug face, so he’s relieved when Johnny steps back from Namor’s touch and squares his shoulders. “This has nothing to do with Sue,” he says, firmly. “So you can leave her out of this.”

Namor seems surprised by Johnny’s words, judging by the single raised eyebrow, but the moment is interrupted by fanfare. 

“You surprise me Jonathan,” Namor murmurs. “We shall continue this conversation later. Right now, I must see to the other guests arriving.” He snaps his fingers and two attendants step forward, and Namor gestures to them as he addresses Johnny. “The banquet will be attended by representatives from the oldest and most respected houses in Atlantis. I have arranged this in your honor, so that they might pay their respects.”

Johnny starts in surprise. “Namor, please--”

“Jonathan, I insist,” Namor says, firmly. “You have done me and my people a great service in returning their King to them. You will allow me the honor of hosting you” His gaze slides towards Peter. “And your...friend, naturally.”

Only Namor could make _friend_ sound like an insult, Peter muses. He watches as Johnny seems to be debating something, and steps closer to squeeze his hand. His purpose in being here might be mostly to try to convince Namor that he doesn’t actually want Johnny for his consort, but that doesn’t mean he can’t also be here to make sure Johnny’s not facing this alone.

Johnny meets his eyes and shoots him a small smile before he lifts his gaze and takes a deep breath, resigned. “We look forward to being your guests.”

Namor simply nods. “You will be shown to you your rooms, and then I will personally escort you to the main hall for a tour.” He spares Peter a glance. “You may bring your photographer if you must. No doubt your fans on the surface will want to see where you will be calling your home.”

And then, just as swiftly as he arrived, Namor leaves, no doubt heading to wherever the other guests are arriving. 

Peter takes a picture of his retreating back, just because, he can, and then looks over at Johnny. “So. That went well.”

Johnny snorts. “Better than I expected, actually,” he says, and gives Peter a small smile. “I guess we’ll just have to try a little harder to convince him you’re my boyfriend.”

“Sirs.” Peter turns, and there’s one of the blue-skinned attendants gesturing towards the hallway. “If you would follow me, I will show you to your rooms.”

Johnny meets Peter’s eyes and shrugs. “You know. I’ve always wondered what Atlantean bedrooms look like.”

***  
Turns out Atlantean bedrooms look pretty much exactly like bedrooms up on the surface, albeit the kind found in really fancy hotels. Johnny’s is more like a suite, with a sitting room and attached private bath. The bed is ridiculously large, and the frame seems to be carved to resemble a coral reef. For all he knows it might actually be one. He knows that there are those people who carefully make trees grow in the natural shape of chairs. The bathroom that he peeks into is equally lavish, with a bath big enough for him, Johnny, _and_ Namor, to comfortably fit inside.

He’s just put his photography case down on the bed when an attendant interrupts. “Please, sir, your guest must be shown to his room.” 

Johnny frowns and looks around, theatrically. “I thought that’s where we were.”

“These are the rooms for King Namor’s intended.” The servant glances at Peter. “He has made another accommodations available for your companion.” When Johnny looks about to protest, the servant continues on. “King Namor would consider it a grave offence to reject his graciousness. Especially in light of other offences.” The servant shoots an angry glare towards Peter, who rolls his eyes. 

“I’m sure the other rooms are fine, thank you,” he says, and hauls his case back onto his shoulder as he heads towards the door. 

Johnny still looks displeased, and Peter pats his arm on the way out. “Don’t worry, Johnny. I’ll see you at the tour, okay? If I’ve learned anything about Atlantean hospitality, I’m sure wherever Namor has put me is just as nice as yours.”

***

Turns out he was wrong about that. Very, very wrong. Apparently Atlantean hospitality was no match for Atlantean pettiness. 

The room where Namor banished him has a small porthole for a window that seems to be partially covered by an octopus. It wiggles one of its tentacles at him when he walks by, and although it might be the case that all the octopi in Atlantis are friendly, Peter suspects it’s the same octopus he met earlier when they were waiting for Namor, and he wiggles his fingers back with a smile..

He surveys the room which, while lacking in a giant bedframe carved out of coral, does at least have a bed. The bathroom might only have a small shower, but honestly, Peter’s lived in worse places. 

***

Namor takes them on the tour, personally, striding in wearing a high-collared robe over the omnipresent green shorts. This robe is made of a heavier fabric but is still open to the waist, with long slits up the sides so that his bare legs are still on view with every step he takes. 

Weirdly, Peter’s almost gotten used to it, or at least desensitized to it. And he has to admit, Namor’s physique is impressive, although he’s never going to get used to the wings on his ankles.

As expected, Namor essentially ignores Peter and spends all of his time telling Johnny stories about different artifacts and artworks. And there are a lot of artworks and artifacts. Every room they pass through has pedestals and cases with artifacts inside. 

He dutifully takes photos of them all. One case contains what look like to be leatherbound handwritten journals, and a small silver frame that contains a black and white snapshot of a man in a suit. It’s next to a framed newspaper clipping that shows Namor, Captain America, and the same man in a red suit, standing in front of a military tank.

”That’s Jim Hammond,” Peter realizes, with some surprise. “The Human Torch.” He’d known Namor was older, of course, and he’d known about the first Human Torch, and even how they’d worked together, but he still somehow hadn’t put it together that Johnny wasn’t the first Human Torch in Namor’s life.

Namor studies Peter intently, with more interest he’s shown towards him so far. “Yes. Jim paid many visits here to Atlantis during the war, and after. His death is a great loss. I keep his journals here, as a memorial to the greatest man I have ever known.”

Peter’s surprised by the emotion in Namor’s voice, and glances over at Johnny, who looks solemn, and a little guilty. He knows, because Johnny’s told him, that the first Torch had been brought back to life only a few years ago, but sacrificed himself, again, for the sake of the Fantastic Four. He guesses that Johnny had kept that information to himself. 

When Peter looks back over at Namor, he finds the king gently stroking the leather with a soft expression. 

***

After the tour, Peter and Johnny go their separate ways to get ready for the banquet. He decides to shower, and grants that at least Namor’s pettiness hadn’t extended to the level of toiletries as he peruses the little bars of soap and tiny bottles of shampoo and conditioner. 

The water is hot, and Peter lets himself drift a little bit as he lathers up, mentally working through his current situation. He is currently in Atlantis, attempting to fool Namor into believing that he and Johnny are a couple, which is going very poorly because every time Johnny or Peter say that they’re dating Namor ignores it. 

He’s also still hiding his identity from Johnny. Peter Parker is here, but _he’s_ not. It’s this person he’s created--Peter Parker, closeted photographer for the _Bugle_ , who has agreed to pretend to date Johnny in order to fool Namor. 

Which would be fine, except for the kissing. The kissing, and the touching. Peter hasn’t forgotten the night at the club, or when Johnny came back to his place and they almost….

But they didn’t. They couldn’t. And even though Johnny was the one to make the call, Peter was relieved, because he’s made love to too many people who never knew he was Spider-Man. 

It’s some kind of irony that this time it’s the other way around. He’s never been with someone who knew Spider-Man before they knew Peter Parker, and there’s a part of him that’s convinced that he’ll never live up to the person that Johnny’s imagined him to be. 

But of course, it’s not just that issue that’s keep Peter tied up in knots. Now there’s more. What would Johnny think if he found out that Peter had been lying to him all this time--not just about Spider-Man, but here. Now. Pretending to be a separate person to pretend to date Johnny. 

He reaches for the soap on the octopus-shaped shower shelf and then yelps as the shelf moves, its tentacle reaching for him and curling around his wrist. That’s all the warning he gets before the octopus launches itself at Peter and wraps itself around his neck and torso.

Oh god. He’s getting mauled by an octopus.

***

When Peter emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, he shuts the door viciously behind him. Apparently, his octopus friend wanted to get _real friendly_. It had taken more than a little skill and dexterity to pry the octopus’s limbs off of himself and escape, and he only hopes that the octopus can find its way back out, since it found its way in to begin with. 

Crisis averted, Peter stands in front of the bed, where pieces of blue cloth are laid out, waiting. Namor had (grudgingly, in Peter’s opinion) agreed to provide Johnny and Peter with traditional Atlantean garb which, as far as Peter can tell, consists of strategically draped pieces fabric held together by belts and jewelry and not much else. 

His “outfit” consists of short shorts similar to the ones he’s seen Namor wear, except blue and thankfully not bejeweled. There’s also a sheer sleeveless robe (also in blue) with a high collar that, he thinks, is supposed to be belted at the waist. He feels like he’s wearing a bathrobe, but a very nice bathrobe, at least. The shoes they provided for him are basically slippers, too, which he supposes is a point in Atlantis’s favor, since other than the fact that he’s basically naked, the whole ensemble is actually much more comfortable than a tuxedo.

Now that he’s dressed, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. The banquet’s not supposed to start for another hour, according to his watch, but Peter doesn’t feel like staying in the room with the amorous cephalopod any longer than he has to. He makes his way back upstairs to Johnny’s room and knocks on the door and braces himself for Johnny’s laughter. 

When Johnny opens the door, Peter forgets to breathe. 

The first thing he notices is the color. Unlike the blue of Peter’s outfit, which is a dull navy, Johnny’s is the same bright blue of his Fantastic Four uniform, and just serves to make his eyes seem brighter. Johnny’s outfit is similar to his own, except the sleeveless robe has a cape attached to the high collar. The fabric drapes over Johnny’s arms, showing and revealing glimpses of well-formed biceps. The shorts are as short as Peter’s, and draw attention to the lean muscled thighs. And instead of being belted, the fabric has been gathered just below his navel and secured with a large piece of jewelry made with gold and adorned with what Peter has no doubt are real jewels. 

Johnny is shades of blue and gold all over--golden skin and hair, blue eyes and fabric that leave him exposed to the point of being barely decent, and Peter can’t help but stare. 

“I take back everything bad I’ve ever said about Namor’s fashion sense,” he says, struck dumb. “You look….” Words fail him and he just shakes his head with a small smile. “Fantastic.”

Johnny laughs, but when he meets Peter’s gaze his eyes are pure heat. “You, Peter Parker, are the worst.”

“What, you don’t like my jokes?” Peter protests. 

“Your jokes, sure. That joke was as bad as Spider-Man’s,” Johnny retorts. 

It hits Peter like a slap--he’d forgotten again, that Johnny doesn’t know he’s Spider-Man. But maybe right now that’s a good thing. Because if he was Spider-Man right now, he wouldn’t be able to do this, to step into Johnny’s space and crowd him against the wall. He wouldn’t be here, watching as Johnny’s eyes flare with surprise and heat, to feel Johnny’s hands come up to clasp his arms, one curling around the back of his neck to draw him closer. Because while Peter is starting to come to terms with the fact that he’s actually very attracted to Johnny, Spider-Man can’t be. 

“I take it back,” Johnny says, breathlessly. He swipes his tongue across his lips and Peter’s eyes narrow, suspiciously. 

He slides his hands up Johnny’s exposed arms and Johnny makes a soft, needy sound that has Peter kissing him, and he only hopes that Johnny will forgive him for it later. 

Kissing Johnny before had been soft and sweet. There’s nothing soft nor sweet about this kiss. Johnny’s mouth is hot under his, and he’s making soft, needy sounds every time Peter bites down on his lip, scrapes his teeth against his neck, or curls his hands tight around his arms. Johnny’s hands are in his hair, down his back, pulling Peter snug against him so he can feel Johnny, hardening against his hip. A week ago he could never have pictured himself with Johnny like this--would never have let himself picture it. And now, it feels like he won’t be able to live without having this, at least once. 

“Peter,” Johnny pleads, his hands deftly navigating the belt-robe-shorts situation with far more ease that Peter had. “Peter, please.”

Peter’s in this situation now because of his inability to say no to Johnny when it counts, and so he makes a bargain with himself. A one-time offer. Peter Parker, Johnny’s Peter Parker, gets one night with Johnny Storm, and that’s it. Tomorrow, Peter Parker, Spider-Man, goes back to being Johnny’s best friend.

So, he rationalizes, as he steers Johnny towards the couch in the middle of the sitting room, he’d better make this one count. 

***

“Okay, Peter,” Johnny says, when they finally make it down to the banquet. “Game time. The banquet is scheduled to start in half an hour, so you have exactly that long to convince Namor I’d be a horrible consort and he doesn’t want to marry me.”

“No pressure,” Peter mutters. “Seriously, Johnny? How is this still the plan?”

Johnny rolls his eyes and pushes Peter towards where Namor is standing. “You can yell at me about my horrible planning skills after you’ve convinced the godlike being with rejection issues that he doesn’t actually want to marry me.”

Peter sighs. “I hate you.”

“You don’t, though,” Johnny replies, and leans close to just brush his lips against Peter’s cheek as he murmurs in his ear. “Go be my hero.”

“Sure. No problem.” Peter sighs, and the slow walk across the ballroom feels like a death march. He manages to approach Namor just as he’s dismissing someone else. “Uh, your highness? May I speak with you for a moment? It’s about Johnny.”

He can see the moment when the king weighs Peter’s relative importance in relation to what he might know about Johnny, and then decide to at least hear Peter out. 

“Very well. Are you here to apologize for participating in Jonathan’s ruse of pretending to be his romantic partner?” The way Namor looks at him--or more pointedly, doesn’t--is more than a little grating. His attention is focused elsewhere. Specifically, he’s focused on Johnny who is across the room, smiling and charming a group of Atlanteans without even trying.

Well, Peter has to admit he didn’t see that coming. He sighs and shrugs a little helplessly. “Okay, yeah, Johnny asked me to pretend to be his boyfriend because he doesn’t want to marry you.”

Namor sips from his glass, still watching Johnny across the room. If Peter didn’t know better, he’d think his expression is proud, which, granted, is Namor’s default expression, except this time it seems to be focused on Johnny. “And?”

Peter crosses his arms over his chest. “And what? You’ve met him. Did you really think he’d just say yes? Or better yet--have you even thought about why he’d go to all this trouble instead of just repeatedly telling you no, the way his sister does?” 

That has Namor’s attention, judging by the narrowed eyebrows. “You may continue.”

“Thanks,” Peter says, dryly. This next part is going off script, but he’s been caught off guard by being called out on his fake relationship with Johnny, and is out of ideas, so honesty is all he has left. “You know, Johnny doesn’t think of himself as someone worthy of this kind of attention, from someone such as yourself, I mean.” 

“Jonathan is used to accolades. I have read them myself in the newspaper,” Namor says, dismissively. “Including the one you claim to work for.”

“There’s a difference between headlines and a marriage proposal,” Peter says, and to his surprise, Namor actually pauses, as if considering the point. “Look, I’ve known Johnny a long time. You’d think that nobody has a higher opinion of Johnny Storm than Johnny Storm. But you’d be wrong.” And it doesn’t say much about Peter as a friend that it’s taken him this long to start figuring that out. “He’s dated royalty before, you know. Crystal, of the Inhumans. But it didn’t work out. Because at the end of the day, Johnny doesn’t think of himself as being royalty.”

Namor’s expression is implacable as always, but Peter thinks he detects a slight tilt of his left eyebrow. “I see.” 

“So add to that the fact that until last week, the only Storm that you were interested in romantically was his sister. Oh, and don’t forget the fact that you were best friends with the first Human Torch--the one Johnny still doesn’t think he can measure up to?” 

That earns a slight frown from Namor, and so Peter presses on. “Johnny already thinks the only thing he has to offer is his pretty face--but that’s not even really relevant here, because it’s not like Johnny can give you an heir.”

Namor lets out a soft, exasperated snort. “I’ve known humanity for decades now and one of its most ridiculous beliefs is the insistence that genitalia is somehow an essential selection criteria for a partner.” 

“Jonathan is beautiful,” Namor adds, his tone softening, “but my desire for him is more than skin deep. And while he is nothing like the man whose mantle he claimed as his own, I have thought for some time now that Jim would consider him to be a worthy successor, even if he was not one he chose.”

Peter hadn’t considered what Johnny taking on the name of the Torch might mean for those who knew the man--the android--who carried it before him, so Namor’s reply surprises him. He’s thinking on what to say next when Namor continues, unprompted. 

“Mr. Parker, I was in your city of New York for weeks, alone and exploited. You can’t know what it feels like to have someone know you when not another soul can tell you who you are,” Namor continues, and Peter thinks he’s not imagining the softness in Namor’s voice as he speaks, or the softness in his expression as he gazes at Johnny across the room. “You can’t imagine what it’s like to know in that moment not only who you are but who you want to be. For him. Because that’s who he sees when he looks at you.”

Peter thinks of how Johnny looks at him when he’s Spider-Man, and thinks he might know exactly what Namor means. 

***

As the party is making their way into the banquet hall, Peter joins Johnny in the processional line. “So? What happened? Am I a free man?”

Peter picks up a glass from a tray and avoids Johnny’s gaze. He can’t very well say that he admitted their relationship was fake and then had a heart-to-heart with Johnny’s would-be suitor. “Probably until the dessert course, at least?”

“You are the worst fake boyfriend ever,” Johnny grumps. 

Internally, Peter agrees, although not for the same reasons. 

***

Peter hadn’t really put in a lot of thought into what an Atlantean banquet would look like, but he didn’t really expect this much seafood, which in hindsight was probably an obvious culinary choice for an ocean-dwelling civilization.. 

In another move of petty dickishness, Namor had seated Johnny next to himself at the head of the table, and banished Peter to another table in what he is pretty sure is actually in another zip code, if Atlantis had zip codes. When he’d begun to protest Namor had claimed that to move any of the other families of Atlantis to make room for a “surface dweller” would be considered the gravest insult. Johnny had frowned but Peter simply shook his head and sighed before heading to the opposite end of the table.

His dining companions look at him with such obvious disdain, except for the small child that’s seated to his right. He doesn’t know how Atlanteans age, but he’d wager this one was probably roughly equivalent to a ten year-old, because he’s watching everything that’s going on around him with wonder, but is also obviously very bored, his legs swinging in his chair. 

Peter likes him immediately. 

“I’m Peter,” he says to the kid. “What’s your name?”

“Kalen,” the boy replies. “Why aren’t you blue?”

The boy’s mother inhales sharply. “Kalen!” she scolds. “You can’t just ask people why they’re not blue.”

Kalen frowns and looks like he’s about to ask another question, but Peter decides to speak up first.

“I’m a surface-dweller,” he confesses, conspiratorially. “See that guy up there? I came here with him, because Namor wants to marry him, see, but my friend doesn’t want to marry King Namor.”

Kalen’s mother looks scandalized, but shushes them as the first course--fish, what a surprise! Is served. 

He winks at Kalen, who tentatively smiles back. 

Pretty soon, Peter is actually glad of his banishment, because banquets with Namor appear to mean that Namor talks while everyone else listens. And despite the fact that he (impressively) makes sure his voice carries so that everyone at the table could hear him, he mostly talks at Johnny. It seems kind of rude to Peter, to be honest, but from his position at the other end of the table, there's not much he can do except sip from his wine glass (that they keep refilling) as he watches the other people around him, listening with rapt attention as Namor regales the group with stories of the battles that he and Johnny have fought in together.

Peter’s basically tuned out Namor’s voice at this point, but partway through the next course, he recognizes the battle that Namor is talking about as one he actually fought in as well, as Spider-Man.

“Oh come on,” he mutters. “Not one little mention? We punched a giant kraken together, and nothing? What did Johnny do other than fly around too much and then faint.”

Kalen giggles, and Peter smiles. “He does that a lot, you know. I think he fainted after every battle the first year we met. Years, maybe.”

“That’s silly,” Kalen declares. 

“It’s very silly,” Peter agrees. “He’s constantly looking after everyone else and then runs himself ragged.” He twists a bread roll and stuffs half of it into his mouth. “That’s what Aunt May would say. Not that she’s much better. That’s why I know the signs,” he adds, confidentially, to Kalen. 

“You must like him a lot,” Kalen says, picking pieces of fish off the filet on his plate with his fingers.

“I don’t,” Peter denies. “Except....I do.” He sighs. “I think I love him. I think maybe I’ve loved him for years, and I probably would’ve kept on loving him, and never known.”

Kalen’s mother is openly giving him the stink eye, so Peter lifts his (freshly refilled) wine glass in her direction before taking another drink.

It isn’t until Namor shifts the conversation to talk about how he’s known Johnny since he was a child, and how he approves of how Johnny had matured--physically--that it dawns on Peter that this whole dinner is a performance, designed to make everyone in attendance approve of Namor’s choice of Johnny as his consort. And it’s all Peter’s fault. All of it. Every point he’d made during his chat with Namor earlier, he’s addressing, one by one. 

Peter aggressively stabs his fish entree and wishes, just for a moment, that he had Cyclops’ laser vision. 

The climax of the evening’s narrative performance is timed precisely with the dessert course--some kind of fruit-based pastry that still managed to taste of seaweed--when Namor begins speaking about what had led him to the surface and the amnesia that had followed. And, of course, how Johnny had saved him. 

Then, to Peter’s horror, Namor reaches over and takes Johnny’s hand before he continues to speak. “I am pleased that you accepted my invitation to Atlantis, Jonathan. Words cannot express the depth of my gratitude, but I hope that my actions will.”

Namor signals to the table attendants around them and suddenly there are glasses filled with alcohol everywhere, including in Peter’s hand. Except Namor’s, who seems to be holding a small velvet box. 

“Neptune’s balls,” a disdainful voice says to his right. “He’s really going to do it. He’s actually going to propose to that that surface dweller.”

Peter’s head whips around and he sees a familiar-looking sneer on an unfamiliar face. “Excuse me,” he says, with mock-politeness. “What’s your name?”

The man looks over at him in surprise. “I am Bobo, King Namor’s cousin,” he sneers. 

“Bobo?” Peter laughs. “Wait, you’re serious? Your name is actually Bobo?” 

Bobo raises an eyebrow, and Peter shakes his head. “Okay, Bobo-boo. I’m just going to tell you this the one time. That man down there, your king? Might be the rudest man I’ve ever met in my entire life, but you know what? The one good trait he’s ever shown is that he thinks Johnny Storm is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. And you know what? He’s right. Because Johnny Storm was the best thing that ever happened to me too. And unlike your cousin, I’m never going to get a chance to tell him that, because none of this--this whole stupid week? None of it was real, okay? None of it. So if I have to sit here and listen to your cousin propose to the man I love, you can shut your face, before I shut it for you. Capisce?”

It’s only after he’s finished saying his piece that he realizes that the room has gone silent, and all the attention--including Namor’s and Johnny’s--is on him. 

Peter doesn’t like to admit to it, but he has a history of making bad decisions at moments like this. He has no excuse for it. Sure, he’s always been impulsive, and he’s learned to trust his instincts in certain situations where hesitation is the difference between life and death. Neither of those traits can really explain why, seeing Bobo open his mouth for another round of insults, he decides to punch Namor’s cousin right in the face. 

***

Things happen quickly after that. It takes three Royal Guard members to pull him off of Bobo and then escort him to another sitting room where he’s informed that he will remain until his things can be collected and the submersible can be readied for his immediate departure.

There’s blood on his lip that he wipes down with the hem of his garment and then sighs, pacing in front of the glass wall restlessly. 

It’s a hell of a view. And probably the last time he’ll ever get to see it. 

He groans and rubs his hands over his face and basically faceplants in front of the window. He’s probably getting blood all over the carpet, but he doesn’t care. He buries his head in his arms and takes a deep breath. That could have gone worse, maybe. But he doesn’t know how. 

He hears a faint tapping on the glass and lifts his head to see an octopus--the same one, he’s sure of it this time, floating near his head. Its eyes, though small, blink intelligently. He sighs and holds up his hand against the glass, and the octopus puts one of his tentacles against it. 

“What is it about octopus,” Peter wonders aloud, nonsensically. “There’s a guy up there who calls himself Doctor Octopus who’s tried to kill me, like a lot. And then you try to cop a feel in the shower.” He sighs. “Believe me, I’m flattered. And, if we’re being honest here, that’s the most action I’ve gotten in a long time….”

He hears an amused cough behind him. “Am I interrupting?” Johnny asks.

“Don’t be stupid,” Peter taps the glass beneath the octopus’s limb again and then stands up. “So, am I banned from Atlantis forever?”

“Pretty much,” Johnny admits. “But on the bright side, you punched a guy named Bobo in the face.” And even Johnny can’t hide his smile. 

“Har har,” Peter groans and rubs his face. “I’m sorry. I just. I saw the box and I panicked and it was either that or ask you to marry me.”

It’s meant as a joke, but Johnny takes a quick breath and then snorts. “You’re not allowed to make fun of my plans anymore,” he states.

"Deal," Peter agrees. 

The moment turns quiet, and then Johnny sighs. “You’re a mess, by the way,” he says. “We should get you cleaned up. You’re still bleeding, and you’re going to have a hell of a shiner tomorrow.”

“You’re worried about _me_?” Peter doesn’t mean to sound hysterical, but it’s been A Day. “What about you? What are you going to do about Namor?”

Johnny frowns and then sighs. “I’m going to do what I should have done to begin with, and tell him that I don’t want to marry him. That I can’t. Because I’m in love with someone else.”

Hearing Johnny say those words hits him like another punch, the perfect ending to the self-inflicted misery that has been this week This whole thing started out as a favor to Johnny and now it’s gone so far beyond it. He’s in love with Johnny. And he can’t say anything, because Peter Parker, the fake relationship, his identity as Spider-Man--everything will fall apart. And now, it means nothing, because Johnny’s in love with someone who doesn't exist.

Well done, Peter. You played yourself. 

“I have to tell you something,” Peter says, because at this point he has nothing left to lose, and he might also still be a little drunk. 

“I know,” Johnny replies. 

“No, I need to tell you, now,” Peter insists, but Johnny puts his hands on Peter’s shoulders and meets his eyes, firmly. 

“And I’m telling you. I _know_ , Peter.” Johnny pulls back and glances around them before he holds out his hands. His eyes flare as his flame blooms, and a small spider made out of flame appears in the palms of Johnny’s hands, and then flames out. 

“Wait. What.” Peter forces himself to pull back from Johnny’s hands. “You know? How long have you known?”

Johnny sighs and looks guilty. “The first day we met--when you were pretending to be your photographer friend, which is--I’d say that was the worst idea you’ve ever had if, you know, it hadn’t turned out to be your best idea you’ve ever had.”

When Peter’s mouth opens to protest, Johnny places a finger over his lips and smiles a smile that is so filled with soft affection he closes his mouth to just wonder at it. 

“When you told me that I didn’t have to persuade you to date me by talking about the benefits you’d get, you called me Torchy,” Johnny says, and his expression turns serious. “I may not have known your face, Spidey, but I’ve been listening to your voice for years. I don’t think you even noticed you’d slipped up. And then this whole week was just....” 

Johnny sighs, and turns away from Peter to pace. “It’s like, once the idea got into my head, everything just seemed to add up. You laugh the same way, which is your second least attractive trait, by the way. You take your coffee the same way. You sing the same wrong words to "Bohemian Rhapsody",” Johnny lists off, counting on his fingers. 

Peter just stares, because he hadn’t realized how closely Johnny had been paying attention to him--and maybe had been for awhile.

“I thought you were trying to tell me, you know, without telling me. Like it was a test, or something. But then I realized it wasn’t that at all.” Johnny stops his pacing and stands in front of Peter, and that affection smile is back. “You know for a guy trying to keep a secret identity? You kind of suck at it.”

Peter sputters and opens his mouth to protest, but Johnny moves fast, and he finds himself with an armful of Johnny, which is, he has to admit, better than whatever he was going to say. 

He kisses him, his arms going around him tight, warm and secure, and so familiar now. Maybe on some level, Johnny’s right, and he wanted to tell Johnny without telling him, at least subconsciously. And maybe, just maybe, he can forgive Johnny’s playful insults when his hands are curling around his hips. Maybe. 

“Wait, _second_ least attractive trait?” Peter’s eyes narrow as he pulls back. 

The corner of Johnny’s mouth twists. “You have some very strong opinions about the correct condiments that belong on hot dogs.”

“Ketchup is an abomination,” Peter says, stubbornly. 

Johnny lets out an affectionate, longsuffering sigh, and Peter wants to kiss him again, but there’s something he has to confess first. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, guiltily. “For not telling you all this time.”

“Pete, it’s okay--”

“It’s not, though,” Peter says, firmly. “You’re my best friend. And I felt like you wouldn’t understand why I wanted to keep Peter Parker and Spider-Man separate, because you’re just...Johnny Storm, Human Torch all the time. But then I saw….” Peter swallows, because he hates admitting this part, but he has to, for Johnny’s sake. 

“When we went out--when you were showing Peter Parker what it was like to date Johnny Storm I realized that you may not have a secret identity, but that doesn’t mean that who you should to the world is who you are. I thought you loved that kind of thing. The attention. The parties. All of that. But you don’t. And these people you date...they think they’re dating that guy, and they’re not dating you, and Johnny--people should want to date you. Because the Johnny Storm that Peter Parker got see is smart, and funny, and not at all egotistical--and the fact that you don’t get that, that nobody’s told you that, is just--you deserve better.”

Johnny’s staring him, shocked surprise, but Peter soldiers on. “As much as I don’t like Namor, he gets that. He gets what it’s like to have to be this person that other people think you are, and you’re the only person who knows you’re not that guy. And he would--” Peter’s voice wavers just slightly “--he would give you anything. Everything. You’d be a prince, admired by everyone, just like you deserve to be.”

“You’re an idiot,” Johnny says, after a moment’s silence. “A romantic, well-intentioned idiot, but still.” 

He takes both of Peter’s hands in his. “Being Johnny Storm of the Fantastic Four...that’s a role I have to play every single day. But that night at the club...I thought maybe you saw through the glamour and glitz and realized how that’s the opposite of the kind of life I want. And being Namor’s consort--even discounting the fact that I’m not in love with Namor--being his consort would be that life, forever. And yeah--Namor and I both get it. But the difference, Peter, is that Namor accepts it.”

Johnny lifts one hand to gently cradle Peter’s bruised cheek. “Before I came here, I spoke to Namor again, and instead of telling me he was going to attack New York, he actually told me was that he understood what I saw in you. What you could offer me.” He smiles, bright and wide and beautiful, the kind of smile that Peter would go up against godlike immortal rulers of Atlantis to see. “The promise of a real life. A normal life--or as normal a life as we can get. That’s what I want. And I want it with you, Peter.”

***

To Peter’s surprise, Namor is there at the dock to see them back to the surface. 

Peter hangs back for a minute to give Namor and Johnny a moment of relative privacy. He notes that Namor is holding that small velvet box again. 

“Jonathan,” Namor says, imperiously. “Before you depart, I wish for you to have this.” He holds out the box for Johnny to take and Peter watches as Johnny frowns. 

“Namor, I can’t accept this.”

“Please do me the favor to open it before you decide to decline it.” Namor says. 

When Johnny does, Peter realizes it wasn’t an engagement ring at all. 

It’s a small badge, with a symbol that Peter doesn’t recognize, something that looks almost like an eye, except stylized. “There is an Atlantean tradition of awarding honors to those who have performed a great service to Atlantis,” Namor says quietly. “It is comparable to, perhaps, being knighted in the British court.” His gaze slides over to Peter and then back to Johnny. “It occurred to me that you might see yourself a commoner and unworthy of being my consort. I wished to ease your mind, and bestow this royal status upon you at the banquet.”

Well, if Peter had felt bad before, now he felt worse. 

“Despite what you might think of me, I had no intention of forcing you to accept my proposal in public. I’d hoped that, by the end of your stay, you’d accept of your own free will.” There’s a small, perhaps even self-deprecating twist to Namor’s lips that make Peter think the guy might be hiding a sense of humor there after all. 

“I’m honored,” Johnny says. “Namor. But I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve your throne when I barely did anything.”

“I don’t know where I would be without you, Jonathan,” Namor says, and Peter is surprised by the genuine emotion he hears in Namor’s voice. “I can never truly repay you.”

Johnny’s face turns serious, and he glances over at Peter and then back. “This in no way can repay this honor, but there is something I need to tell you, about Jim Hammond.”

As Johnny steers Namor to the side, Peter takes that as his cue to wait on the submersible. He's staring out the window when an octopus floats by, waving one of its tentacles. 

Johnny collapses on his seat next to Peter and sets the velvet box on the seat on the other side, radiating misery. 

“Well, at least that’s over,” Peter comments. He bumps Johnny's shoulder companionably. “Time to go home.”

Johnny groans and throws an arm across his face. “I’ve changed my mind. Staying in Atlantis is a better option than having to go back and face my sister.”

“Sue is way more scary,” Peter agrees. “But look on the bright side. At least you won’t have to have a seaweed-flavored wedding cake.”

“You’re not funny,” Johnny grumbles, but he lowers his arm and bumps Peter's shoulder back. “Thanks, by the way, for this."

"For what?" Peter frowns, genuinely confused. "Getting drunk on Atlantean wine and punching Namor's cousin in the face?"

"Well, that was awesome," Johnny grins. "But, no I meant this. Coming up with this absolutely ridiculous plan to help me."

Peter takes Johnny's hand and squeezes it. "Anytime." He was surprised to realize that he meant it. Despite everything, he'd do it all again. Despite absolutely everything going not the way he'd planned it, he'd done exactly what he'd set out to do. Mostly. And he still had those photos to sell to the _Bugle_. Maybe he could quit his job as a TA after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done! My first real Spideytorch fic, and my first Big Bang fic challenge. Crossing that off the Bucket List. 
> 
> This fic draws much of its inspiration from the fic [Love among the Hydrothermal Vents](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045195) by DevilDoll, which is a fantastic MCU-inspired Steve/Tony fic. It was the first time I’d ever seen Namor in a fic and I needed more. 
> 
> The premise of this fic is based on a very real story arc where Johnny Storm finding Namor. But that happens in _Fantastic Four #4_ (1962), which actually predates the existence of Spider-Man, which makes me super grumpy, so I moved it to instead take place instead roughly around _Fantastic Four #244_ (1982), because it’s before Johnny’s marriage to Alicia/Lyja and also coincides to the era when Peter was being a TA, and I love grad student Peter Parker. The story was referenced and retold twice in the 90's in _Namor the Sub-Mariner #11_ (1990) and _Tales of the Marvels: Inner Demons_ (1996), so I feel like I’m entitled to do whatever I want. 
> 
> Because comics time works differently than real time, even though the story is based on comics that were released in the 80s, I’m trying to keep true to the aesthetic of comics as both timeless and ever-evolving, which means that the story is devoid of modern technologies (such as cell phones and social media), but does not include the homophobia or biphobia of the era in which it was written. Any hesitation or questioning of sexual orientation by characters in this fic should be read as that--questioning of one’s one orientation. As a queer woman, I drew upon my own experience, but understand that my experience is not universal. 
> 
> Special thanks to Traincat, as always, for organizing this whole thing but also for being so supportive and endlessly patient with my obscure continuity questions at all hours. 
> 
> I also need to thank both of my artists, who read an early draft and then drew these beautiful illustrations. They are amazingly talented. Check out their artwork [here](http://cocona21.tumblr.com/post/180356894455/my-submission-for-the-spideytorch2018-big-bang) and [here](https://rayandhisart.tumblr.com/post/180327048549/spideytorch-big-bang-2018-drawn-for-the)!


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